


The Rest Of Our Lives

by Coldsaturn



Category: Bellarke - Fandom, The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, don't ever trust Anya with anything, this will give you diabetes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 10:38:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1937754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coldsaturn/pseuds/Coldsaturn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I dreamed about it for 23 years, and this is what I get! A ditto, rain, and…you!" Clarke smacks his shoulder, "And we don’t even have rings!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rest Of Our Lives

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [White Wedding](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1925298) by [Zoadgo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoadgo/pseuds/Zoadgo). 



> since [Zoadgo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoadgo/pseuds/Zoadgo) was cruel enough to make such a happy prompt a gloriously sad one, I wrote it with all the fluff I could muster.

 

"This is not exactly how I had imagined my big day." Clarke says with a mock sigh of resignation. Looking down, a web of thin metal wires rains down from the circle she’s wearing as a belt. Raven is lying on her back between her feet, welding together the ends of each fiber to another circle, far wider than her normal stride.

 

"No shit." Is the only answer she gets from Raven, but she can see her giggling and Clarke snorts, shaking her head. "If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t exactly study for this either." Another white flash as the chemicals kindly provided by Jasper react and melt together, thus gluing the metallic ends. Every single delinquent had insisted on finding a task for the big event, and now the entire field is overflowing with flowers and garlands that in the last two weeks Clarke has had only patients with allergic reactions. Clarke included. But if all goes well, this afternoon everything will return to normal, and Clarke will finally be able to walk without being greeted by cheeky smiles and dreamy eyes. Everyone has been acting like the wedding is also theirs, and it’s seriously starting to embarrass her.

 

"I promise you that this is the first and last time this happens. I’m prohibiting marriages."

 

Raven looks at her through the barbed wires, raising an eyebrow. “I know more than one person who would get quite upset.” Clarke makes a grimace in response, imagining Octavia’s fury if she knew that she couldn’t get married with her favorite Grounder. Her rage is not something that Clarke hopes to see in the near future.

 

"Ok, too excessive. Let’s say that I’ll ban classic wedding dresses." Clarke says, leaning toward Raven, convinced that she has found a way to save her friend from a miserable career as a mechanical-stylist.

 

"What, after all our effort?" Octavia’s voice echoes in the dropship and Clarke turns towards the entrance, seeing her coming while holding a blob of faded yellow cloth. As she gets near, Clarke notices that the color is not uniform but stained by several large blotches that fade to dirty white.

 

"How the fuck did you do that?" Raven asks, extricating herself from the mini cage in which she was trapped in and getting to her feet. She stretches her hands to touch the fabric, focusing on a patch as big as her palm, "This is from when Jasper and I accidentally invented a new acid!"

 

"Yes, and it was Jasper the one finding out a way to use it to make some sort of bleach, or some other sciency thing.” Octavia shrugs, clearly not interested in those small and insignificant details. “C’mon Clarke, everyone’s getting impatient out there, we have to sew this on you.”

 

"I didn’t know you knew how to sew." Clarke frowns, already feeling worried.

 

"I don’t." She answers simply.

 

"Then who-"

 

"Ready to be a badass, Clarke?" Bellamy’s voice comes from somewhere incredibly close to her left ear and she jumps, startled.

 

"Oh my God, don’t scare me like that, you know I hate it!" Clarke spuns around, finding him looming over her with the tip of his tongue between his front teeth and a boyish grin that had let him get away with too many things during the last few years. He’s wearing his usual black outfit, the sallow skin still damp from what was probably an icy cold bath in the river, his dark curls actually dripping wet down his forehead. "Were you in a hurry?"

 

"Yes, apparently the sun from the last two days had a bad effect on the fabric and we had to remake it at the last moment." Bellamy sniffs and makes a gesture to Octavia to drop the cloth on the ground, then kneels at Clarke’s feet and takes out of his pocket a pair of scissors and one of the needles that Clarke uses to make stitches.

 

She’s about to complain to Bellamy for taking her tools without asking her when she realizes what he’s doing, just as he lifts a piece of fabric and starts to shape it onto the metal cage she’s wearing. “Wait, YOU will sew it?” Clarke asks, the shock clear in her voice.

 

"Do you happen to know someone else who’s able to do it?" Bellamy replies, looking like someone who’s already won the argument. Of course he would be the one sewing her dress. She’s that lucky.

 

Clarke lets her arms fall at the sides of her body, sighing. “You know you’re not supposed to see me with the dress before the wedding?”

 

"Shut up, Princess."

 

Octavia and Raven snorts in unison.

 

***

 

When Clarke reaches the part of the field that has been decorated for the wedding, she can’t help but gape. She had witnessed and participated in all the works during the last weeks, but somehow they managed to hide the huge arch of scrap metal and another ton of flowers that now adorns the altar. If you could call ‘altar’ a raised platform made from a panel of the dropship.

 

Lincoln is waiting at the end of a small makeshift nave covered with colorful leaves, and on both sides the delinquents stand looking at her with those damned expressions. Clarke hates them all from first to last because she doesn’t want to cry before the ceremony begins, but she’s already tearing up.

 

Lincoln takes her arm and whispers an “Are you sure?” in a voice so full of doubt and worry that she laughs and starts to walk down the aisle with him stopping every few steps to remind her that she’s always in time to find a better man. Clarke doesn’t believe there is anyone in the world who could be what Bellamy has been for her over the past five years on Earth. Years that should have been a living hell, and instead had turned into a long and adventurous journey the moment Bellamy had become both the ship and the goal.

 

Clarke glances at everything but at the right of the altar, already knowing that she wouldn’t stand the thrill of seeing Bellamy waiting for her. She focuses on the comments about the beautiful dress, trying not to laugh because she’s literally wearing the tent she had lived in for the first three years, before moving into Bellamy’s more spacious one. For a few steps her eyes dart to the metal skeleton underneath the fabric of her gown, responsible for the “Princess”-look that Octavia had so insistently requested. At the first row on the left, Jasper, Monty, Raven and Finn are watching with smiles that could make the sun fade.

 

Ok, maybe it’s better not to look at anyone and just go. Clarke walks the last few steps with her eyes fixed on the ground, and when it’s time to leave his companion, Lincoln puts a hand on the side of her head and pushes her temple against his lips, then leaves and goes to sit by Octavia and Miller on the right first row.

 

It ‘s time to turn to Bellamy and it should be hard because he’s exactly who’s scaring her more than anything at the moment, but her brain is used to automatically look for him when it’s gripped by fear, so she looks up, quietly begging him to help her in some way.

 

Clarke doesn’t think she has ever been looked at by anyone as Bellamy is looking at her right now. She doesn’t even think that Bellamy himself has ever looked at her like this before. In those eyes there is so much hope and will to live that Clarke takes her place in front of him and starts to feel the adrenaline mounting excitement rather than anxiety.

 

Feeling him close, Clarke remembers that this should be the happiest day ever, the beginning of the rest of their lives. Bellamy winks, mouthing a soundless “Nice dress” and Clarke sticks out her tongue, making him laugh.

 

"The almost husband must not laugh, this is a serious matter." Anya interrupts their moment from her special spot at their left, and Clarke silently curses the River clan for not sending their priest fast enough. Now the poor soul will arrive in the next days only to find that the wedding has already been celebrated. They would have waited for him, but her mother and Kane are getting married this very moment in their own camp and they’ve all decided to have a double honeymoon at the beach, but if they don’t leave tomorrow at first light they won’t ever make it in time.

 

Anya clears her throat, holding her hands above their heads and closing her eyes, as to summon some divine power. When she opens them, she looks at both Bellamy and Clarke, nodding and muttering “You’re husband and wife, much congratz.” before stepping back and actually heading toward the crowd.

 

Clarke stays with her mouth open in surprise, as Bellamy reaches for the Grounders’ leader. “Wait, wait! That’s it?!”

 

If looks could kill Bellamy would be already six feet under. “That’s NOT it, obviously! How can it be complete without all the rituals?! But your friends there told me that no, we can’t have animal sacrifices and blood pacts here, so what do you want me to do?!” Anya replies, offended.

 

"I’m sorry for your troubles, but it’s really important for us to make this as similar to how it was on the Ark as possible." Clarke tries to reason with her, hoping that it will convince her to come back on her spot and…do some priesty thing. Anya sighs, rolling her eyes and coming closer from the crowd side.

 

"I won’t do the whole promises and speech thing, am I clear? You follow me or stay unmarried." Bellamy nods immediately, followed right after by Clarke. "Good. Now hold hands or do what your species does in this moment." This time Clarke’s the one rolling her eyes, but she obeys nonetheless, not wanting to piss off the Grounder Princess. When she focuses on Bellamy, he’s already there with his hands stretched out, waiting for her. Clarke leans her palms on his, feeling her heartbeat leap in happiness.

 

"Ok, we’re here to bind these two together for life. We’re all very happy and I even learned your second names, so: do you Bellamy Blake take Clarke Griffin as your wife, in sickness and health, war and peace, until one of you or both pop off?"

 

Silence reigns for a few seconds, then several badly withheld laughs burst among the bystanders, and Bellamy sighs resignedly. Looking back at Clarke, he caresses the back of her hands with his thumbs. “I do.” A shiver runs down her back and she has the implicit confirmation that this is the right decision. If after a nuclear disaster and five years of survival she still melts when he looks at her that way, there’s not much else to do.

 

As she waits for Anya to restart the formula, a raindrop falls on her cheek. Clarke doesn’t have the time to register the information before it starts raining hard, and the crowd immediately erupts in groans and complains.

 

"Clarke Griffin," Anya exclaims loudly as she covers her head with her jacket, forcing everyone to silence, "…do you ditto?"

 

She’s tempted to answer with “Are you kidding?!”, but a thunder shuts her up. Maybe they should take cover in their tents. She tightens her hold on Bellamy’s hands, wishing that her body could say it the same way her voice does. “I do.”

 

"Great! You’re officially married, thank you for having me, it was fun. Can we go now?" Anya asks with her black make-up streaming down her cheeks. She resembles a sopping wet skull, and Clarke finds herself nodding. Anya sighs in relief, calling for everyone to follow her into the dropship, where they can at least perform the sacrifice on an already dead deer—better than nothing, apparently—and "eat till we drop dead". The delinquents obey so quickly that Clarke feels a pang of fear.

 

"She’s a bad influence." Clarke mutters without really meaning to. Bellamy steps forward, drawing her against his chest by putting his arms on her waist, and leans his head on hers.

 

"Worried for our children?"

 

"Of course." Clarke lets her forehead fall against him, breathing in the scent of his body under the rain, something so heavy and musky that she feels light-headed. Goose-bumps cover her skin as the cold water freezes her, reminding her that they should get inside the dropship before they both get pneumonia. "This wedding sucked!" She pouts.

 

Bellamy huffs a laugh, his chest deflating abruptly. “C’mon, don’t be a spoilsport, it was fun.”

 

"I dreamed about it for 23 years, and this is what I get! A ditto, rain, and…you!" Clarke smacks his shoulder, "And we don’t even have rings!" Another smack. Bellamy stops her hand in mid-hair when she goes for a third hit.

 

"Calm down, Princess. Who says we don’t have rings?" Says Bellamy with a smirk, pulling out from the pocket of his jacket two little metal rings with the surface ornated with twirls and leaf-shaped layers of thin copper. He holds them in his palm in front of her face, and Clarke feels her cheeks turning red.

 

"Bellamy, I…" Failing to find something to say, Clarke opts for offering her left hand, feeling her throat dry up as Bellamy puts the smaller jewel on her ring-finger. Bellamy mirrors her with his left hand and Clarke drags the other ring on his finger mechanically, her ears thumping to the wild beat of her heart.

 

"I asked Finn to make something for us, and this is what he came up with."

 

"So that’s why he didn’t help us with the decorations, he already had something to do! I even told him he was a lazy ass. I have to tell him I’m sorry."

 

"Don’t, it’s perfect." He grins, pulling her close again. Bellamy drags his hands from the small of her back to her nape, the heat of his palms warming her cold and wet skin almost enough to make her moan. He moves his head so that his mouth is right next to her ear and nips lightly at the lobe.

 

"We still have another thing we can do to go by the manual. In your fantasies, did you get to dream about the first night as well?"

 

"I’m open to suggestions."

**Author's Note:**

> Edited by the awesome [Clarkessbellamys](http://clarkessbellamys.tumblr.com), who kindly reminded me that weddings involve rings, duh. 
> 
> Thanks to anyone who will read it, comment it, _kudos it_ , ignore it etc.  
> Feel totally free to contact me here or on [my tumblr](http://coldsaturn.tumblr.com)!


End file.
